


strange times

by waveechocave



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Critical Role: Wildemount Campaign (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Battle, Wound Tending, frenemies?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 11:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14019048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveechocave/pseuds/waveechocave
Summary: A mini-fill for a prompt: “I like your laugh.”





	strange times

Inside all of the excitement of the fight, Molly wasn’t really sure how he’d ended up here: piled onto an unfamiliar bed, the linens pressing patterns into his cheek. Bedrooms he didn’t recognize weren’t, of course, strictly out of his repertoire. But he’d usually rather wake up in those with at least some memory of ever having walked in. Also, preferably, next to a warm body, not cold and alone. And suffering minor headache pangs at worst.

His body seared with pain the second he first tried to sit up and look around. It wasn’t the sharp immediacy of pain from a blade or arrow, but an excruciating all-over soreness. Any tiny shift in position he made was met with an equal and opposite protest from every bone and muscle he had. He groaned aloud. Really, how terrible, not even being able to sit up and see how badly he’d taken it.

“Can it,” a voice cut in from – somewhere. Off to the left. Molly made the mistake of trying to glance over; he bit back his wince this time, not knowing who was watching. Although, that voice…

“Is that Beau?” he asked. As soon as he had, the bed depressed with the weight of this new someone sitting on the edge.

They silently cut a careful line through what felt like bandages looped around his torso. Cold air bit against his bare skin. He managed to see the bandages land on the floor out of the corner of his eye. They weren’t a pretty sight. Dark red blood caked them in distorted parallel lines, claw mark after claw mark after…

He winced all over again as they practically punched a cooling salve over the half-healed wounds. “Alright,” he rasped, “yes, you have got to be Beau. A little gentler, dear, if you would be so kind?

“Tch,” she chided, one hand pulling sharply back as if to slap him for good measure. But she didn’t, just stilled and sighed, then got back to tending his wounds. Gently. At least, gently in comparison to before – gently for her – which was all, in the end, he could really ask. “S’rich how lively and talkative you are, y’know, all things considered.”

“If you mean anything besides how badly injured I apparently am, I’m sorry to admit that I really don’t remember it,” he breathed, letting his eyes fall shut. “Whatever happened… is everyone at least alright?”

He felt the bed shift as Beau reached for something, then felt her hands winding around him: front to back, then around again, to get the new bandages set in place. “Yeah.” She worked surprisingly deftly and rapidly even if the way she cinched the whole thing off made him gasp in pain all over again. “Minor injuries. Hot water, soap, and pastries level shit. Still had Jester running overtime after getting you stable, but s’nothing worth worrying about now. You’re the only one who runs towards the monsters, genius.”

Molly snickered. It was an aborted sound, though – as, just like everything else he’d done this morning, it hurt. “W-well. That’s how it is sometimes.”

“It literally isn’t, but okay.”

Instead of trying to laugh again, Molly took a deep, heavy breath that filled his lungs and grounded him. He hadn’t been this sore in a very long time, and if the rest of their little group was doing well enough that they could get by on their own while he gathered his strength… Knowing that took some of the edge off of his worry. All the same, he promised in a low whisper, “I’ll be back with you as soon as I can.”

“Gotcha,” Beau said as she stood. He could practically hear the cool smirk in her voice. Her hand clapped over his shoulder, soft as she could manage (so not very soft at all). “I’ll take a ‘thanks,’ by the way.”

“Will you? I wasn’t sure you would, it seemed like too much genuine sentiment.”

“I knew I shouldn’ta let you start getting chatty.” Beau bent, hands on knees, to the thin area Molly could actually see without risking aggravating his injury. She bore a single set of claw marks across her left cheek, thin but fresh, patched over but not quite healed. “Don’t die in here, got it? I got too much roast material to let you go just yet.”


End file.
